Senses
by RinaluffsPokemonboys
Summary: Sense; Without it, humans are shells. Numb and devoid of emotion. Senses make life worth living. But how does one deal with a person detached from everything, senses included?
1. Touch

Why didn't I upload this? I was just clearing out my inbox and here it was. o 3o I had completely forgotten about it! It's been a while so... enjoy? Might have a follow-ups, who knows?

-o-o-o-

"So, what are we gonna do with him?"

"It'll be your job to help rehabilitate."

"What? Like fuck, yo. Ya know he doesn't react to nothin'."

"Start with touch. People need touch, Reno," Tseng said.

"Pfft, I haven't had it since I was seven."

"Oh? And look at where that has landed you. Do you feel anything when those women touch you?"

Silence.

"Did you know, there was a study done. Babies born and treated without touch will become sick and die. That's why they cry and scream so often."

"What about the remnants, then? Did they have someone to hold 'em when they were babies?"

A head shake.

"So, why didn't they get sick and die too, yo?"

A pause. "I don't think they were allowed to."

–

The room was white and blank. It held nothing but a steel bed stand, a metallic table with a large dent in it – from when the remnant had first been brought in – and the remnant himself. Reno wasn't sure of his name. His long silver hair cascading down his back, head bent between his knees. The male never seemed to sleep, his emerald eyes glazed over, unblinking, unseeing. He never ate either, his food tray – filled with cold Shin-Ra quality eggs and mystery meat sausages – left completely untouched on the table.

They had tried ways to get the clone to react. Speaking to him directly, asking him questions, lifting his head up and pulling his eyes open. Threats, too, were becoming one of the more commonly used tactics – things like never seeing the outside world again, or going the same way as his brothers – just didn't seem to work.

So why had they called Reno? He sure as hell had no idea. He wasn't good with this sort of thing, especially when pistol-whipping was out of the question. Explosives, sure. Flying the chopper around the block? Hell fucking yes. Discussing feelings and giving out hugs? No, thank you.

But when he saw that remnant, looking as though he dared not to breathe, he realized that the job had to be done. And who else would do it? Rude, despite Reno's constant badgering, was not as big of a friendly giant as people would love to believe. Elena had sworn off of even going near anything with silver hair, and Tseng was... well, Tseng.

So he stepped forward a few steps, his dirty boots hitting the ceramic tiles with loud clunks that seemed to shake the entire room. He walked like an elephant, he had been told once, especially in his boots that were generally never laced up. The silence in the room was horrible, Reno thought, as he lowered himself onto the bed right beside the other male. No reaction was made. Not a finger twitch, not a blink, nothing.

The redheaded Turk began bouncing his knee, the noise from the squeaking of the bed, and boot against tile lessening the loud silence.

So... what now? Reno awkwardly glanced over to the remnant, who's shoulders were hunched so badly, as if he were trying to curl up into himself and disappear.

A simple touch, Reno decided, would be best. He reached out slowly, and, as if he were patting a crying infant, he began to rub the clone's back, brushing away the lye-scented hair.

The male didn't stiffen, not because he was relaxed and comfortable, but because it didn't seem worldly possible to be any more stiff than he already was. Reno was alarmed by this. Were his muscles always so constricted and was his body always so... cold?

He kept rubbing the man's back however, saying nothing, thinking nothing, looking at nothing but the clone. Was he really so detached? Was there no going back at this point?

And why the hell was he asking so many questions in his head?

Reno wasn't sure how long it took, but after what was seemingly forever, he noticed that the remnant's muscles had relaxed. His breathing was slow and long, yet somehow uncontrolled. He was... asleep? The redheaded Turk found himself smirking. Who knew a remnant could be so swayed after a few soft pats?

The male decided it was time to leave. For today, anyway. He rose, quietly, this time, and tried to stifle the elephant sound of his boots. The body of the silver-haired male still seemed so uncomfortable, so Reno, feeling like some weird puppeteer, nudged the stiff bones out of their positions, helping the clone into a lying position. He rested his head on the pillow, and turned to leave. But, something made him look again.

The remnant's eyes were slightly red, lines of the same color underneath, created by too many tears fallen and not wiped. A bell inside Reno's head seemed to ring, and something nagged at him to get out. Now.

And he did. He was behind the steel door, the locks snapping behind him. But it was too late, he knew. He was a part of this now, and there was no letting go.

-fin?-


	2. Smell

I don't know where this is going, but it's going somewhere. (:

--

His nose was not used to such smells. He felt bad for it, the sudden assault on his sense of smell confusing the other senses. He and his brothers had always been used to the scent of pollution and each other. But here, although the dead scent of a sterilized hospital was always prominent, Yazoo was getting introduced to so many different smells now.

The dark-haired one smelled of musk, like a hidden smoky village. But at the same time, it was like stepping into a restaurant that cost more than it should. And the girl, she smelled of petty perfumes and fake flowers, like most women did, trying to cover their natural scent. The bald one smelled of nothing in particular, Yazoo noted. He smelled like a man, and maybe a bit of aftershave.

But then there was the redheaded one. The one that had been seemingly forced into visiting him everyday. The visits were never very entertaining, but Yazoo had slowly began to look forward to them. It had only been a week since the first time he had poked his head into Yazoo's cell, doing nothing but rub his back innocently. That day Yazoo was almost certain he was going to crack, end it all and join his brothers. The sudden appearance of a body that wasn't hostile, just purposefully awkward and warm, had stopped him. Whether that was good or not, Yazoo was unclear.

Everyday, at almost exactly seven thirty, the Turk would arrive. He still hadn't said a word to him yet, and the remnant was sure that today would be no different. Yazoo preferred the silence. He was sure if the Turk tried to talk to him, it would ruin what ever sort of moment they were having. They had nothing in common, why would Yazoo care about how ever many bullets he had shot out of his gun that day?

There was a hum from the door, and Yazoo turned his head slowly, neck cracking from the sudden movement, removing his gaze from his hospital-assigned bed clothes to the reinforced steel door. Someone on the other side had punched in the security code, for the locks were unlocking, and the humming noise grew. The door slid into the wall, disappearing for a short moment to allow the redheaded Turk entrance.

He stepped in, and Yazoo looked back to his knees, his hair hiding his face from view. He hadn't eaten in days, and he was sleeping less and less. Along with the tears that had left red blotches on his face, Yazoo was now certain he looked less than average. He had always been proud of his aesthetic attributes, but he refused to allow a Turk to see them, and especially in his current state.

The Turk said nothing, like usual. His boots announced his presence, tracking in a bit of dried mud as the tongues of the unlaced boots slapped against his ankles. For someone who fought so elegantly in battle, he liked to make himself appear as lanky as possible, didn't he?

The bed lurched under the sudden arrival of the Turk as he settled down beside him. Had Yazoo been relaxed before this, he would have tensed up at the touch of the male. But as it was that he had already been tense as humanly possible, he made no reaction.

The male smelled of sweat and warm cigarette smoke. His scent was always very vivid, almost as intrusive and loud as the male of whom the scent belonged. It was slightly comforting to have that scent nearby, however, but the clone was sure it was because subconsciously his mind associated the scent with the soothing back rub. It had absolutely nothing to do with the male himself.

There was something else the male smelled of, but the remnant could never quite place his finger on it. It was extremely sweet, but very faint. Nothing like a flower or a spice, but... perhaps a fruit? He would find out eventually, he was sure.


End file.
